Lair of Dreams

“Watch out!” Henry darted forward and yanked him back just as the train screeched into the station.

The young man slumped to the ground, mewling into his hands. “I just want to sleep. I have to get back there! I have to!”

The crowd opened up to allow the police in. One of the officers hoisted the haunted-looking man to his feet. “Come on, pal. We’ll get you a nice bed, and you can sleep this one off.”

“Dream with me,” the man half cried.

He was still muttering the phrase as the police carried him out.





Evie and her best friend, Mabel Rose, sat in the Bennington’s Victorian dining room under the faulty, winking chandelier, drinking cups of hot cocoa to chase away the winter chill. It had been two months since Evie had set foot in her former residence, but Mabel had insisted, and she was surprisingly adept at wearing a girl down. Now that Evie was here, she couldn’t help noticing how drab and shabby the place was, especially compared to the modern hotels where she’d been renting rooms. For a moment, she thought she saw Jericho, and her heart skipped a beat. But it wasn’t him, and Evie was both relieved and disappointed.

Mabel patted the Gimbels box tied up with blue ribbon. “I can’t believe you bought me a dress. It was too expensive,” Mabel fretted. “Striking workers could eat for a week on what it cost.”

Evie sighed. “Oh, Pie Face, really. Will this be a tragic screed on the dangers of capitalism? Because I must tell you, capitalism makes some darling dresses! Besides, it’s my money, not yours.”

“It is darling,” Mabel said.

“Just like you,” Evie said, peeping over Mabel’s shoulder in the direction of the Bennington’s revolving front door.

“What are you looking for? You’ve been doing that since we left Gimbels.”

“I was, um, just making sure Uncle Will wasn’t around,” Evie lied. “I don’t want to run into him. You understand.”

Mabel nodded. She broke into a grin. “Gee, this has been swell, hasn’t it? The two of us together, just like old times?”

They’d enjoyed a perfect day of ice-skating in Central Park, followed by the shopping trip to Gimbels, where Mabel had burst into giggles as Evie played elevator operator, crying out, “Fourth floor: Hair bonnets and enema bags! Ladies, Gimbels has you covered from top to bottom!” But it all felt so brief and fragile. Mabel missed Evie terribly—they hadn’t seen each other in ages—and Mabel worried that Evie’s new, exciting friends would eclipse and ultimately replace her. Mabel didn’t drink, and frankly, she’d found the one party she’d attended with Evie to be dull and meaningless, populated by shallow people who didn’t think much about the rest of the world.

But it didn’t stop her from wanting to be included.

“Say! I’ve got a terrific idea. Why don’t you stay over tonight?” Mabel said. “I’m sure my mother won’t mind.”

Evie raised an eyebrow. “Your mother thinks I’m the Devil.”

“She doesn’t! Much. Oh, forget about my mother. We could dance to Paul Whiteman records, play Pegity, and eat coffee cake till our stomachs hurt.”

“Sorry, Pie Face, but I can’t. There’s a party at the Whoopee Club. I promised to pop out of the cake at midnight.”

“Oh. I see,” Mabel said, deflated. There was always a party these days.

“Really. I am sorry.”

“What about tomorrow?”

“El-o-cution les-sons,” Evie said, drawing out the words in exaggerated fashion. “And Radio Star is coming to WGI to take my picture. Well, everybody’s picture, but I’m in it, too.”

“Sounds… glamorous.” Mabel hoped she didn’t sound as pathetic and envious as she felt. “I wish I were more glamorous instead of… me.”

Evie put her fist on the table. “Nonsense! I won’t hear a bad word spoken about Miss Mabel Rose. She’s a fine girl. The finest.”

Mabel rolled her eyes. “Hip, hip, hooray!”

“You are special. You are the only Mabel Rose in existence,” Evie insisted.

“I suppose that’s why men fall at my feet daily. It’s my fine qualities that draw them in,” Mabel lamented. “If I weren’t so ordinary, maybe Operation Jericho wouldn’t seem hopeless.”

Evie stirred her cocoa intently and hoped that Mabel couldn’t see the blush blooming in her cheeks. “Maybe Jericho was carrying a torch for another girl,” she said carefully. “Some old flame. And he had to be rid of the ghost of her before he could start courting you.”

Mabel perked up. “Do you really think so?”

Evie managed a smile. “I’d bet my new stockings that’s it. Do you know what? I don’t think you should wait around for Jericho. You should be bold! Show up at the museum and offer assistance. Tell him you’ve had a message from the spirit world that the two of you are supposed to catalog ghosty things and then go dancing.”

“Evie!” Mabel giggled.